


A Spoonful Of Sugar

by LogicGunn



Series: The Long Dark [10]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, The Long Dark (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Long Dark Fusion, Angst, Fluff, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic, Rodney's POV, Survival, Theraputic Conversations, alcohol use, mental health, reference to past sexual assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:29:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27648203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicGunn/pseuds/LogicGunn
Summary: Rodney’s eyes are closed but he’s not actually sleeping.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Series: The Long Dark [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583821
Comments: 4
Kudos: 44





	A Spoonful Of Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning at the end in case anyone needs it.

Rodney’s eyes are closed but he’s not actually sleeping. He’s lying on his back in bed listening to the combined snores of John and Miska, getting irritated by the premature awakening of the birds outside that don’t care that it’s stupid o’clock in the morning, they only know that the sun is about to slip back over the horizon and it’s time to dig through the tundra for worms. The rhythmic _tick_ _tick_ _tick_ of the grandfather clock coming from downstairs is a modern comfort in a world without technology. Rodney stayed up late a few nights in a row to make sure that its hands struck midnight when the sun was at its lowest, the few minutes it finally ducked down behind the mountains to the southwest the closest thing he has to any kind of temporal accuracy out here. Nothing has changed, for all that not having a clock doesn’t alter the progression of time, but in some ways everything is different. Rodney’s primed to acknowledge the ding on the hour, every hour, even in his sleep. It’s an anchor, a tether back to the old world, and a welcome one at that. Rodney’s not like John, there was no grandfather clock in the hall of his childhood home, but he’s always been fascinated by time, how it flows from one moment to the next, never halting or turning back, never speeding up or slowing down. As an adult he’s manipulated time in theoretical models, mapped it out in terms of gravity and space (and indeed forced it to halt, turn back and slow down, at least on paper), but his newfound happiness at having a clock is more to do with comfort than with any need to master its flow or alter its path, something more primal and innate. 

There’s a comfort in the routine, in going to bed at a fixed hour and being able to keep regular meal times. Knowing what  time it is at any given moment gives them both a sense of control that was very much lacking before. And control is important, especially now, especially for John. Rodney’s been tentatively laying down the groundwork for weeks now, taking steps to make John feel safe and secure and valued, opening up spaces for conversations that neither of them particularly wants to have but that they both need, trying to be steadfast and strong and consistent when his heart is crying out for some kind of revenge, never mind that he dealt justice in a single killing blow. John’s  freakouts aren’t getting any worse, but they’re not getting any better either. He’s stuck in some kind of perpetual limbo and the only way out is for Rodney to rip off the band-aid in one smooth motion. 

And so last night he sat John down and plied him with the last of the Yukon Jack, let him win at cards until he got suspicious and then pulled the rug out from under his feet. John baulked at first, stood up and refused to take part in what he sneeringly called an “intervention”, but the alcohol got the better of him and he fell flat on his ass on the bearskin rug, ended up lying on his back in the fur, clawing at it with his hands as Rodney forced him through every second of what happened before he got back to the cabin in microscopic detail. John rushed through it at first, because of course he did, but Rodney held his tongue and guided him through it a second time, a third, until they were both left wrecked on the ground, side by side, as John detailed the feel of a strange man’s erection pressing into the crease of his ass, the raw terror that evoked, the powerlessness. 

But after the assault came the silver lining; Rodney bursting through the door, a gun in one hand and a bloody rabbit in the other, a look of sheer determination on his face, and with him came relief and rescue, safety and security. John burst into laughter mid-sentence, couldn’t catch his breath for a time and Rodney found himself laughing along even though he didn’t know what was funny. 

_ “It’s just...*snort*...you had a gun in your hands, you could have taken him out from twenty feet but you...tee hee hee hee...you smashed him in the face with the butt of it like it was some kind of club!” _

Cue more hysterical laughter, John curling onto his side to bury his face drunkenly in Rodney’s armpit. But it had the desired effect – what was a shameful and buried memory became an experience, no worse for being shared and discussed, and John admitted to a lightening of the load once they were curled up in bed. It’s not the end of things, Rodney knows from his own  experiences in therapy that trauma is too complex for a single conversation to triumph over it, but now that the dam has been opened there’s no going back. With any luck John will find he has a measure of control over his  freakouts and from there they can hope to banish them back to the depths of obscurity from where they came. 

In the here and now Rodney’s restless and unable to sleep. John’s snores belay a peaceful and deep dreaming, and Miska, having slumped herself over their feet in the dark, is starting to wake up. She stops snoring and starts yawning, then jumps off the bed and shakes herself out. Rodney gives in to the inevitable and follows her downstairs, lets her out the back door and sets his mind to tidying up the detritus of last night’s therapy session and making breakfast. He’ll surprise John with some highly coveted paracetamol and breakfast in bed. There’s an array of things to choose from and Rodney settles on some boxed pancakes with a cartoon character on the front (just add water!). Pancakes were something his aunt Bey used to soothe him with when he was a child and whether or not John has similar associations, he’ll surely appreciate the maple syrup drizzled all over them. If in doubt channel your inner Mary Poppins; add a spoonful of sugar to help the medicine go down.

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Rodney makes John talk about the sexual assault from part 1 of this series. Use of alcohol with the intent to get drunk.


End file.
